Black Plague
Black Plague is a story written by Ahpolki Inika for Vorred's writing contest. It follows his universe's version of Glonor, prior to the days of Patriots. Story Prologue Time: Hours before Glonor's departure... A purple-and-brown Skakdi ran through the woods, his acid-green eyes fixed on the path ahead. He dared not look back, not after what became of his crew. As he continued his mad sprint, the Dark Hunter named Wythilv couldn’t help but wonder how this all happened. It was supposed to be a simple job: Go to some small island, grab some artifact, and return to their contract. It went smoothly at first, but then they ran into the locals. And apparently the “locals” were undead freaks, slashing anyone in their way. Just moments ago, one of them tore through his partner, Nixot. He didn’t know where “Tide” or Hjorlan went, but he didn’t care at this point. It was every being for himself. He didn’t see the tree in his way until it was too late. Slamming into it face first, the Skakdi cursed under his breath before he heard a deafening screech. He turned to see “Tide”, or rather, what was once him. The monster was once a member of an amphibious species, though Wythilv didn’t know the name of it. His one sharp, lime-green eyes were now empty, devoid of life. A black substance fused his hook-blades and arms into one, one of his feet mutated. The Skakdi drew out his weapon, an E2 (Elemental Energy) Shotgun , baring what looked like a Toa’s skull on the side. The survivor pulled the trigger, blowing off the legs. The thing came down, howling in an alien tone. He fired again, this time vaporizing the head. The thing flinched, and then dropped dead. The Dark Hunter sighed in relief. “Next time, stay dead!” He snarled. He rose back up and resumed his journey, this time walking silently. He didn’t want to alert more of the infected. Just a few miles ahead was a river that connected to the Silver Sea. Within that river was their ship. And right now, it was Wythilv’s only chance to escape this pit of Karzahni. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally reached his destination. With the forest of giants behind, he made a dash for the beach. When he was a hundred feet away, though, the ground gave way under him. The firearm slipped from his hand, falling not far from him. Before he could retrieve it, a burst of gunfire pasted him. He almost taunted them for their aim, only to turn and fall prey to horror. For it was not he that was the target, but rather his only weapon. With the gun destroyed, shadows fell upon him. He looked in dismay to see a mob of the fallen, each of a different species and culture. And to his horror, among them was the crawling, headless corpse of “Tide”. The blackened abomination leapt down, hooks over its shoulders. If it were possible, the land would’ve quaked as Wythilv’s final scream shattered the barriers of sound. Chapter 1 Hours later.... Kenod sighed, his head hanging down. Today the Bo-Matoran had rode through Karzahni and back. First, he had a run-in with the undead and got nicked across the shoulder. Second, he lost half of his goods to a bandit ambush and barely made it out alive. Finally, he has to escort some Ko-Matoran to an isolated village out in the middle of nowhere. Oh, and he won’t be getting paid for it either. Still, he could use a bodyguard or too, given recent events. Right now, both Matoran were riding on a carriage, pulled by an Ussal Crab. Not very sturdy for, say, another raid. Then again, that’s where the guns came in. The Ko-Matoran had a revolver, while Kenod had twin pistols. The Bo-Matoran frowned, looking at the map in his hands. Judging by the stains on it, it must’ve been old. VERY old, given that only the capital and only a few villages were shown. The ones they were going to weren’t even on the map at all. The only indicator that they existed were (recently added) dots on it. Other than that, nothing, not even a bloody name. The Bo-Matoran turned to his only passenger, a frown visible on his lime-green Miru. “You sure that these places even exist?” He inquired. His orange-red eyes were one met with the lime-green ones of the Ko-Matoran. What was his name again? Glonor? “To be honest, no,” Replied the Ko-Matoran. “Then again, nothing’s really gained by sticking to the road.” The lime-green and navy-blue Bo-Matoran shook his head. He didn’t like flying blind, especially during these times. As the journey went on, the sencery began to shange. The plains morphed into the infamous forest, home to the giants of the green. In fact, the entire forest seemed as if it were designed for something massive. Could this have been home to a massive Rahi? Perhaps a forgotten creation of the Great Spirit? Perhaps this place made by the Great Beings themselves? Nobody knew, and nobody wanted to know. At last, the duo reached their destination. It was a small viallge, its population no more than 20. Most were Matoran, though there was one Turaga and a Toa or two. Nearby was a swamp of sorts, its waters murky and riddled with disease. That, and many strange Rahi roam the bogs as well. The two Matoran came to an inn, dubbed'' “The Murky Fate”''. Once inside, they found it to be nearly empty, save for its innkeeper. He was a male Ga-Matoran, his hunchbacked body broader than his usual female counterparts. He bore a damaged Akaku Nuva, the telescopic lens covered in a web of cracks. Glonor suspected that this one must’ve gone through Karzahni… literally. He just finished cleaning a mug when he noticed them. “Now wut can I do for ya, stranguhs?” He asked as he sat the cloth and cup down, his voice raspy and dry. Kenod stepped forward. “What is this place?” The Ga-Matoran frowned. “Dis here’s Ythiakr, one of the smallest villages on this island.” He pointed out a window, which revealed the swamp beyond. “It ain’t that popular with the swamp outside. Hardly anything worth hunting ‘round here, and many get sick after their first hour here. As you can see, it ain’t the perfect spot for a vacation.” Glonor put a hand on his chin. “''Ythiakr''? That’s not Matoran, is it?” The innkeeper shrugged. “No idea where the name came from. Maybe it’s Matoran, maybe it ain’t. Can’t say.” “How much for a room?” Asked Kenod. “Five widgets.” Said the Ga-Matoran. Both blinked at that remark. “Seriously?” Said the Ko-Matoran. The innkeeper nodded. “Like I said, not many folk come ‘round here.” The duo looked at one another. “We’ll take it.” Said the Bo-Matoran. The Ga-Matoran shook their hands as they handed him the payment. “Enjoy yawl’s stay….” He waited until both were out of hearing sight. “…while yawl still can.” He sighed, placing an elbow in the table. He rested his head on his hand, grumbling to himself. If he was paying attention, he would’ve seen strange lights flickering ever so slightly in the far reaches of the swamp. Meanwhile, somewhere on the other side of the swamp…. A group of undead were carrying a metal coffin of some form. Among them was a former Skakdi, his brown-and-purple armor now rusting away. Much of his body was covered in a tar-like substance, maneuvering him like a puppet. As they reached a dead end, the wall suddenly lifted upward, revealing a tunnel. The horde carried the package down, eventually bringing it to their benefactor. He was hidden in a disgusting-yellow cloak, his face hidden by a damaged Rode. Still, it was obvious that he was ancient. He motioned the zombies toward some stacks of metallic coffins, and they sat it upon one. They bowed and bid him farewell, resuming their hunt for prey… and test subjects. Chapter 2 The cloaked figure stared at the coffins in a feral glance, fingers tapping in a rhythmic pattern. Behind him was his assistant, Iqwask. The little one was a Ta-Matoran, though he wore a deformed Kanohi. It didn’t bother him, though, since it wasn’t always his mask. Rather, it once belonged to a belated Mersion. The fool caused an explosion and was destroyed in the fires. Only the mask survived. May the poor old man rot in pieces. The being motioned him forward, the servant eagerly moving toward the coffin. Drawing out a crowbar, he slid it under the magnetized lid. With all the strength he could muster, he managed to pry it off. A cloud of dust exploded into a mushroom-like form, covering the chamber. When it cleared, the Ta-Matoran leapt back, in a mix of surprise and fear. Within the coffin was a pitch-black entity, one bearing the mark of the Brotherhood. Staring at them was the remains of a Makuta. The odd thing, though, was the lack of…. Well, anything. There was no organic tissue, no mechanical implants, not even the usual crystalline brain or eyes. After what might’ve been an eternity, the hooded one managed to choke out one word: “Impossible.” The figure motioned toward a vile, filled with the strange ooze. The Ta-Matoran complied and handed his master the tool. The doctor poured the essence into the armor, and waited a minute. Nothing happened. The tall one sighed. “Of course,” he cursed. “This body lacks organic tissue. “ His frown disappeared when he took a closer look at the body. Attached to the metallic skull was a Kanohi of someform. It was odd seeing this on a Makuta, but he wasn’t gonna argue. The mask he was gazing at was a Great Mask of Fusion. A twisted idea took root beneath that shadowed hood. Carefully removing the mask and donning it, the being walked over toward a group of the fallen. Among them was the thing once known as Wythilv. When he got close, the mask and group both began to glow. A faint cloud swallowed the trio as they were ripped apart, atom by atom. When the process ended, the zombies were no longer there. In their place was a being so revolting, even their maker would vomit at the sight. The creature bore a Skakdi’s skull as the head, though the lower jaw was missing. In its place was a mass of black tendrils, more in the eye sockets. The neck was long and bent in a way it shouldn’t be. A large, glowing bulge of sorts was growing beside the head. One arm was long and spider-like, ending in a mess of clawed fingers. The other was like that of a Spiny Stone Ape, ending in a sickening pile of jet-black tentacles. Within the mass was a ribcage shifted into the back, tearing it open. The virus had also changed it into a horizontal mouth of sorts, containing the rotting head of a Hau-bearer. The spine(s) became a cross between a tail and a tongue, ending with a face so strange and deformed that no being could describe it. One leg was spidery and bipedal, only that it ended with a spiked dome as a foot. The other was quadruped, a vile mix of iron and flesh. For a moment, Iqwask though he was going mad, but a quick glance at his master said otherwise. The creature gargled and growled, looking at the hooded one. The figure stepped forward with the grace of a shadow. “I’m off to conduct some business. You two will watch over the laboratory in my absence.” He said in a commanding tone. The two nodded, though the Matoran had an uneasy look on his Kanohi. Still, the tall one was his master. As such, he obeyed, though reluctantly. The hooded Necrologist moved to another chamber, filled with more coffins. This time, though, they numbered by the thousands. As he stood before them, memories flooded back to haunt him. He had already given up trying to forget. To forget was like facing a force of nature. No matter how often he tried, they always came back. Even when he erased his own memories, they came back. Despite the agony they caused him, they also gave him strength. They pushed to go where he was today. “Soon, kinsmen,” He whispered, bowing his head in their honor as he made his exit. He found his way out of the caverns and into a dimly lit chamber. He had to report to his master of his discovery. Meanwhile, at the Murky Fate… Kenod was lying down on his bed, rolling around impatiently. He hadn’t been able to sleep since the raid. While most Matoran would use the opportunity to do so, the Bo-Matoran just couldn’t. He knew that danger would jump out when lest expected. To sleep would mean letting his guard down. To let his guard down would mean… well, it was obvious. Glonor sat in a bed ascent to his partner’, though he wasn’t as tense. Rather, he was fast asleep. Or at least, he would be were it not for the other’s paranoia. The Ko (well, Av)-Matoran turned to Kenod, his irritation painted on his mask. “You’re not on fire, you know.” He bluntly commented. Kenod stopped for a brief moment, his eyes nearly collapsing on themselves. “I might as well be with where we’re going.” He snarled. Judging from his tone, he hasn’t had any sleep for the past few days. “Look, if you’re that scared, we take turns dozing off,” Said Glonor. “One sleeps while the other watches his back.” The Bo-Matoran narrowed his eyes. “And how do I know that I won’t find a dagger in my throat?” He replied. “And why would I do that when you have nothing of value?” the Ko-Matoran responded. There was truth in his words, of course. They had nothing, save for food, water, and a map. Then again, maybe their guns and Kanohi might be considered “valuable” by some. But for the most part, they had nothing of worth. The Bo-Matoran was about to make another comment, but his body reached its limit before he do so. Suddenly, his head found itself on the straw pillow, his fiery orange eyes hidden from view. Glonor smirked, looking at a news tablet lying on the table next to his bed. “Sweet dreams, grouchy.” He muttered as he rested a hand behind his head. Kenod opened his eyes, finding himself in the hallway. Something was off, though. First, Glonor was missing. Second, two Matoran were hauling him across the floor. Finally, he was wearing blue-and-gold heavy armor. He caught a quick glance at the reflection in one of their cleavers, and its revelation shocked him. He was a Ce-Matoran, wearing a dark-blue Great Ruru. The world flashed in a blinding light, and he found him-''her-self strapped to an operating table. (S)He tried to move his-her- arms, but couldn’t even feel them. (S)He turned his head, a decision that (s)he would regret. (S)He screamed as (s)he found that both arms had been sawed off, shoulders included. He turned to see yet another surprise: the bartender, holding a bloody hatchet in his hand. (S)he screamed as he brought it down between his-''her''- eyes.'' Keond bolted upward, screaming at the top of his lungs. Glonor, startled, accidently threw his tablet into the ceiling, shattering it like glass. Its fragments rained down on the Av-Matoran’s head. He glared at Kenod, fire in his eyes. The Bo-Matoran rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “Er, sorry man.” He apologized. Just as he was about to go back to sleep, another flash blinded him. Down in the hall, two hooded figures crept slowly through the darkness. Both were around the size of a Matoran, each wielding a butcher’s cleaver. While he didn’t know who the left one was, he (somehow) knew that the one on the right was the bartender. As they drew closer, he could hear something smashing snoring. The figures stopped in their track, tension rising into the air .A familiar voice erupted from behind the door. '' “Er, sorry man.”'' The host sighed in relief, signaling the bartender to move forward. Frantically, he started shoving furniture in front of the door, including his own bed. Glonor jumped of his bed, grabbing the Bo-Matoran by the arm. “Kenod, what in Karzahni are you doing?” He shouted. Before he could get an answer, something-or rather someone- started bashing on the door. “Kill the outsiders!” screeched a croaking voice. A shot fired, blowing off the door’s handle. The two Matoran leapt out of the window, and into an angry mob. Early, the map had mentioned that the population was only 20. Apparently, it was seriously outdated. Around the duo were at least three times the villagers, all wielding some kind of bladed weapon. Glonor rammed his way out of the crowd, Kenod ducking beneath flying knives and bullets. Glonor dared not look, lest he want to lose his head. The duo ran past a corner and ducked behind a wheeled vehicle. Once the swarm of feet passed by, Kenod took a quick peep over the hood. Some of the villagers were wielding shotguns. Since when the Karzahni did they get those? The Bo-Matoran didn’t ponder on that, and instead sprinted toward a large structure. He signaled his collage that the coast was clear, and he entered alongside him. When they slipped inside, the Matoran were greeted with large shadows. Glonor’s eyes adjusted to the lack of light, and he could clearly see that this was a shrine to Mata-Nui. He took a torch and handed it to Kenod. “We should be safe here for the moment.” He said. The two sat on the floor, recovering from their near-deaths. Glonor’s eyes shifted to the statue, and his body soon moved towards it. Kenod snorted. “Don’t bother trying to reach him. Dude’s been out of touch for a while.” Said Kenod. His partner turned to him, a puzzled look on his face. “Who said that I was praying?” Kenod’s kanohi raised an “eyebrow”, following his ally. The dou made their way to the shrine, gazing at the statue. To their surprise, it was damaged and corroding. Engraved on the bottom was a strange message. Death to the False God and his Shadow Spawn! Glonor tiled his head, confused. Kenod scratched his in a similar manner. “Shadow Spawn?” Whispered the Bo-Matoran. Glonor placed a hand on his chin. “The Makuta, no doubt. It seems that this town holds a resentment towards Mata Nui and the Brotherhood of Makuta.” “But why?” Asked his partner. Glonor shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe this island’s Makuta went mad with power and enslaved them? Maybe they prayed to Mata Nui and received no answers?” His keen eyes turned to the head. Or at least, where there should be a head. In its place was a target sign, perhaps a means of mocking the Great Spirit. That was when he noticed the chains behind it. He pointed it out to his collage, and the Bo-Matoran ran towards a pile of rubble. He found a small stone, and flung it at the target. It fell back, then sprang right back up. A series of gears could be heard, chains rattling as well. The wall moved upward, revealing a hidden trapdoor. The duo opened it, leaping into the darkness. The white one was the first to land. He nearly vomited, shielding his nose from an indescribable stench. Unfortunately, he walked right into Kenod’s landing spot and the Bo-Matoran’s feet met his skull. The impact knocked him out before his body even touch the cold ground. He found himself sprinting across the forest, fleeing from an unseen force. His host never dared to look back, indicating a strong sense of fear. As he ran, something from above slithered their way around his limbs and hoisted him into the air. Tendrils of twisted metal and decaying flesh held him aloft, like a puppet on strings. He couldn’t see the thing through the trees’ branches, but was thankful that he never got the change to do so. What he wasn’t so thankful for, though, was being held up like some piñata. A figure stepped from behind another tree, and his heart leapt, attempting to escape its host’s body. Before him was a blackened Ko-Matoran, bearing a Kanohi Matatu. In his-''its- hand was a massive broadsword, fused to where the lower-arm once was.'' “Icax?! What’re you doing here!?” Glonor’s host shouted as the former Matoran drew closer, weapon rising along the way. “Wait, what ''are ''you doing?” '' ''He didn’t respound. The host struggled against the tentacles. Glonor noted that the prisoner’s armor was forest-green and ash-grey. ”Listen pal, you ''DON’T ''want to do this!” The thing opened his mouth, but the voice that emerged was ''not a Matoran’s.'' “The master demands a sacrifice.” Gurgled the abomination. '' A sharp pain slashed across his throat, and he let out a bloodying scream. Glonor was shaken that his (host’s) head was severed from his body, flying into the air before the darkness took him. Then black turned to white, and white turned to color. He found himself unable to move. In fact, he couldn’t feel anything below the neck. He turned his head, an unwise choice. There, right next to him, was his headless body, strapped to an operating table. A tar-like substance was slithering in and out of some holes in the armor. The Matoran tried lifting a finger, and to his amazement (and fear), it twitched. He heard some footsteps, and turned to face a mirror. There, in its reflection, was the head of a Mahiki bearer, orange-red eyes slowly falling into madness. The mirror fell, revealing a hooded being drabbed in a yellow cloak. He bore a broken white Miru, its smile a disturbing sight.'' “Welcome back, Aliki. How was your sleep?” Laughed the being. The only response he got was an ear-shattering scream. “Come on man, wake up!” Shouted Kenod as he shook the body. He knew that he wasn’t dead, and he refused to awake. The Bo-Matoran sighed, admitting defeat. The moment he did that, though, he ended up tasting the stench. He coughed and gagged (in a comical fashion), beating at his chest to clear his lungs. Once that was done, he looked around. Judging from the numbers of stone coffins, this must’ve been a tomb. No doubt that it was for burying the honored dead. He spied an empty room, bare of anything apart from a table and some stools. He carried the Ko-Matoran into the room, and found some table sheets tucked away in a box. Closing the door (and barricading it as well), he used two of the sheets as pillows. One was for himself, the other for Glonor. As he placed the white one on the floor and tucked him in, he did the same for himself. He needed rest, and right now, he didn’t have the energy to go on. Darkness claimed his mind, and he withdrew himself from reality. Chapter 3 Somewhere deep below the catacombs, there was a horde of Matoran. Every now and then, there was the occasional Toa and Turaga, as well members of other species. Among these was the Dark Hunter, Hjolran. He was a massive titan, around nine feet tall. He was clan in mud-brown armor, with hints of crimson. He had a “beard” of sorts, though no being in this universe was capable of growing hair. No, this “beard” was something of a Kanohi, though not exactly one either. In his massive hands was a war-axe, carved from an unknown stone. Hjolran was once a proud member of the Ywinakim species. They were large and hardy warriors, each with a desire to go down in history as mighty heroes. Each dreamed of being remembered in the songs of their bards. Hjolran was like that too, much to his shame. Out of a desire for fame and glory, he joined the Dark Hunters. The crowd stood silent, their eyes glued to the fires high above. Hjolran turned too, and gaped at the sight before him. Emerging from a hidden door appeared the prophet himself. Their beacon of hope wore a dusty (and yet shining) golden robe, his entire face covered in bandages of a sickening (and yet beautiful) yellow. He wore a Kanohi of strange design, lacking an apparent “mouth”. Instead, there was a mass of tentacles, slithering down the “chin”. The mask also bore numerous eyes; two normal eyeholes, and many smaller ones surrounding them from the outside. In one gloved hand was a staff, bearing a skull of alien origin. Strange gems were fastened into its many eyeholes, gleaming in a haunting (and yet glorious) white. The same could be said for his true eyes. “My fellow kinsmen,” Announced the cult’s leader. “Harbingers of The Cold Truth!” The crowd cheered, chanting his name as though he were a champion. In a way, he was. “Almost a thousand years ago, this place was once the lair of a treacherous Makuta. Yes, the Makuta, the Shadow Spawn of Mata-Nui! The ones who betrayed us in the Great Cataclysm! Spawn of the “Great Spirit” that abandoned us!” The crowd booed at the names “''Makuta''” and “''Mata-Nui''”. Their leader chose to go on. “Tens of millennia ago, Mata Nui turned his back on the universe. Over one thousand years ago, the Makuta revealed their true colors. If there’s one thing both have in common, it’s their treachery and deceptive nature!” The crowed screeched in agreement. “For far too long, we have suffered from the tyrants, one on this very earth, one above it. Light burning everything around it, Shadow swallowing the leftovers. White and black blinding everyone. Friends and families torn apart by this pitiful war of the ego. Now, two more self-proclaimed “gods” have risen! Nuva, the arrogant warlock, and Tilira, the prisoner of the mask! Like the spirit and the shadow, they are a blight to this land!” One man from the crowd cried out, “Death to the false Shepards!” The rest of the flock soon joined together in a chant. “Patience, my comrades, patience. Their destruction will come, in due time. As of now, we have successfully swayed some of the fallen to our side. But this alone won’t aid us, oh no. We need all of the firepower we can get. Enlighten as many people as you can, just as I have for you. United, we will free this island!” The crowd went wild, chanting in an alien tongue. Hjorlan didn’t understand any of it, but it gave him hope, and hope brought strength. He watched as his master disappeared from view, and into some other part of the base. If he could, he would see the laboratory the prophet teleported to. Substances of foreign origin were stored in small vials, along with numerous corpses. Some were normal, others were reanimated. Walking by the fusion, he approached one of his fellow Necrologists. Much like him, he wore a hooded robe, though his Kanohi Rode was visible. His white spheres were met with icy blue. “How goes the project?” Inquired the prophet. “It was difficult to make some alterations to the virus’s RNA,” Said the being. “But we managed to pull it off. However….” If the leader could, he would’ve raised an “eyebrow”. “What is it?” The other hooded figure turned and pointed at an enclosed petri dish. “See for yourself, milord.” The prophet made his way to one, and tilted his head downward. Despite the bandages blinding him, he could sense the universe changing around him, though only those within a few meters or yards. And right now, one change caught his attention. He could feel his grasp on one of the blackened strains fading away. Eventually, one sample of the virus no longer obeyed him. It had rearranged its RNA back to its first original form! “….it can’t be…” He breathed. He turned to his ally. “How long has this been occurring?” The rode-barer gulped. “Since we first came here. At first, the changes were slow and easy to correct. Lately though, the virus has been resisting even more. “ The servant moved closer to his master. “Milord, he’s onto us.” If the prophet were still “Mortal”, he would’ve paled at the comment. However, he stopped fearing things like the undead lord a longtime ago. Besides, there were things worse than even him. “So, the old war Rahi finally got the bearings to fight us.” He laughed. The man titled his head. “Milord?” “That Toa’s nothing but a skeleton, a shadow of his former self. And besides…” He paused, drawing his staff. “Toa are usually just as fragile as Makuta anyways.” He turned his back on the scientist and walked to another doorway. “I’m off to inspect the project. Continue your observations and report any more anomalies to me.” The prophet faded in a colorless mist, his form vanishing with it as well. The Necrologist nodded as he disappeared. “As you wish, Lord Arethidas.” He replied. Meanwhile, in a certain Av-Matoran’s head... Glonor found himself within The Murky Fate, facing the bartender. This time, there wasn’t an air of hostility. Rather, it was of calamity. “’Eh Nogad, ya heard about the Skakdi?” The male Ga-Matoran nodded. “Yeah, ‘eard that he got torn to bits. Boss had to stich ‘im back together.” “With what? That little voodoo of his, or that….''thing?” Shuttered the host. At this point, Glonor was able to catch a glimpse of his armor. It was white-and-orange: a Su-Matoran. He wasn’t able to see his Kanohi, though.'' Nogad shrugged. “Beats me. Maybe both ways, ‘eally. Either way, I wouldn’t want to be in his armor right now.” “Do you really believe in all that mumbo-jumbo of his? I mean, I hate Mata Nui and the Makuta too, but I don’t go praying to some other ‘god’.” Inquired the host. Nogad swiftly placed a finger on the host’s mouth. “I wouldn’t say nuffin with dem ‘round here. Dey sensitive around stuff like ‘im ‘n his prophet.” The Su-Matoran shuttered. “You’re right. I’d end up like that Dark Hunter if they heard this. We’re just lucky that they spared us.” Spared us?'' Thought Glonor. From what, or who? ''“Just being curious, what’s the dude’s name anyways?” Said the host. The bartender’s heartlight flickered, fear clouding his eyes. “Don’t know, don’t wanna.” He’s lying.'' Said a silent voice. Glonor tried looking, but he couldn't. Was the “voice” his own or the Su-Matoran?'' But it would be unwise to pester him. I’ll figure it out later. That was when he looked out the window and saw two figures. He froze. “What the Karzahni are they doing here!?” He shouted. The Ga-Matoran turned, stepping back a little. “We've got company.” He grabbed the Su-Matoran’s arm and guided him into the hidden room, where the Ce-Matoran met her fate a while ago. The body, though, was nowhere to be seen. Near a stack of crates was a trapdoor, leading into a blank pit of ebony. The Su-Matoran climbed down the ladder and into a cavern of some form. The bartender used a hand signal, ushering the host to go on without him. The door was shut, and he could hear his comrade rushing back to the desk. As he descented into the darkness, he could his ally’s voice above. “Now wut can I do for ya, stranguhs?” “Wake up!” Glonor awoke to an empty chamber, Kenod kneeling beside him. “Finally,” he sighed out loud. “I thought you’d never wake up.” His response was a punch between the eyes. “OW!” He yelped, rubbing his ‘forehead’. “What was that for!?” “For not watching your step, idiot.” Said Glonor. He took a quick glance around the chamber. So far, no one was here. “How long was I out?” He inquired. The Bo-Matoran looked at a sundial near him. “Hmm, I’d say at least a few hours.” “Then let’s get moving. I doubt the welcoming committee would greet us with open arms.” The Av-Matoran replied, grabbing his revolver. The two carefully opened the door, peeping their heads out. There was a Po-Matoran patrolling, bearing a Kaukau and a shotgun. Kenod was the first to roll out, sneaking up on the guard. When he got close, he grabbed his shoulder, spun him around, and smacked him in the face with the back of a pistol. The fool dropped to the floor, eyes closed but heartlight still shining. The duo dragged him into their room and tied him up. Once that was done, they wrapped a cloth around his head and hid him in a barrel. “You should’ve killed him.” Whispered Glonor. Kenod shrugged. “Sorry pal, killing ain't my thing,” He smirked. “Besides, look what I looted off of him.” He held up something glimmering in the dim lights. It took the Av-Matoran a moment to deduce that they were keys. He didn’t even bother to hide his grin. “Nice,” He said, giving him a thumb’s-up. “Now we just have to figure out where they go.” As the two parted from their hideout, Kenod grabbed the shotgun. The mischievous grin on his face gave Glonor the creeps. Every now and then, the two encounter an undead or a madman, but they would always sneak their way around. The duo eventually found their way to an elevator. It seemed out of place under this chapel, so they were naturally suspicious. Using the key, they activated the device, continuing their dark descent. The world seemed to age as the chamber sank into the blackness below, architecture being replaced by mere cave paintings. And all of them had strange tales inscribed into the forgotten walls. One picture had what appeared to be three Toa. One was black, another white, but the last one was scratched out from the art. What they could tell, however, was that all three were fighting against…. something. It was a massive, flesh-pink entity; its body shaped like... something from the mind of a lunatic. Light began to slither into the elevator, revealing a whole new world (and terror) to the Matoran. They were now within an ancient hall, its carvers long since forgotten. The design was simple, yet also detailed. Many of the pictographs around them portrayed nameless heroes, villains, and horrors. A reoccurring theme, however, was a red star, surrounded by many strange figures. Among them were the sickening entity, a pillar of many colors, a headless mistress, a mass of tentacles and eyes, and so much more. As far as any of the Matoran could tell, there must’ve been at least hundreds of different beings (deities, perhaps) painted into the cave art. High above, an icy-blue light lit the chamber. Large spheres circled above, held together by an unseen force. Some were fireballs, others miniature-sized worlds. Particles of dust glittered like stars in the skies. Darkness swallowed the rest of the room, becoming the void. In all, it felt as if they were walking into outer space. The two heard a voice, coming from the other side of the darkness. Slowly, the little ones crept through the shadows, keeping themselves out of sight from… whoever was down here. The person in question was soon discovered. At the end of the chamber was a cloaked figure, his ragged robes of a rusty gold and vile yellow. In his hand, was a staff with a strange skull of unknown origin. Surely, this skull didn't come from any Rahi beast on this island. What surprised them was the other person in the room. Or rather, thing. It was a massive mirror, projecting pillars of light. Each pillar was in a different color, from white to black, red to blue, grey to purple, and so on. They could hear alien whispers emerging from the lights, a tongue that no mortal being could repeat successfully. Suddenly, the mirror went blank, and the figure snapped his head toward their direction. The lights died out, revealing the twin stalkers. An invisible hand (or several) pulled them toward the being. Up-close, they could see his bandaged face, stained with a vomiting yellow. The spots where his eyes would be were bleached with crimson, long since dried. “Well now, what do we have here?” Chuckled the being, his voice in a venomous (and yet pleased) tone. "A stone rat and an ice bat, it seems." The two Matoran gulped. Chapter 4 Minutes ago… Within a lightless chamber, there was a mirror. But this was not an ordinary mirror, oh no. This mirror was of alien design. Its outer-casing was random and without direction, much like a stain of blood or water. The actual mirror itself was not as flat or perfect either, as one might expect. Rather, it was rippled and bent, like waves from the sea. Before the object was a hooded figure, his robes a sickening yellow. And though his head was completely covered under wraps, he had other methods of… “Seeing”. And besides, sight wasn't really needed right now. Arethidas slammed his staff at the ground, shaking the cavern as he does so. The stones screamed, begging to be put out of their misery. They begin to bleed a blinding light, their wounds transforming into unusual runes. A silent voice chants with each one revealed, whispering in a tongue no being could comprehend. The mirror became a window, opening a tear beyond the veils of reality. The opening revealed several pillars of light, each one constantly changing their color. The faceless one bowed to the mirror. “Your presence is long missed, my liege.” He said. “As always, I am honored.” “''The universe is an endless void, filled with nothingness and the inane pursuit for substance. Why would you, above all else, be something of special consideration?” Said the voice, emitting from the mirror. “I am but your humble servant,” Replied his minion. “That, and nothing more.” “Yes,'' that, and nothing more,” His bodiless master said. “What new revelations do you bring me?” The “prophet’s” head hang in shame. “Lately, the RNA has been rewriting itself back to its original state. Each time we alter it, he would only restore itself once more. It appears as though that Nuva is becoming aware of our presence.” The unseen force chuckled. '“You forget that mortal things are always kept in check. Nuva is bound to this corporal plane of existence. We, unlike him, are not. And while he and Tilira bicker like Brakas over berries, we grow stronger by the second. Unable to unite against a common foe, they will both fall.” “But what of the third?” Inquired the hooded figure. “He vanished when the fools fell. For all we know, he could still be alive.” There was a pause. “Hmm, yes… His continued presence will prove to be a nuisance if left unchecked. It will be wise to remove him before he becomes a problem.” “As you wish, Milord,” Said Arethidas. “He will be dead by the end of the week.” The lights began to fade, seeping back into the darkness. “Before I go, be sure to welcome your guests.” Was the final thing the mysterious entity said before they vanished. What was left of the robed one’s eyes widened. Guests!? Calling to his staff, he commanded it to bring forth the intruders. The tool complied, and slung two small entities before his feet. One was a Bo-Matoran, bearing a noble Miru. The other, however, surprised him even more. Though his armor was white-and-grey, he instantly sensed the familiar power of an Av-Matoran. What was more was that he recognized this Matoran from one of his meditations. Still, this version of him was weak compared to the other one. “Well now, what do we have here?” Chuckled the being, his voice in a venomous (and yet pleased) tone. "A stone rat and an ice bat, it seems." The staff made its move, flying from the shadows above and into its master’s hand. Both Matoran were bewildered by both its appearance and its wielder’s. It was also obvious that both were armed, but were too frightened to draw their weapons. He walked towards the pretender. “I must say, I have heard many things about you,” Said the faceless one. “And to see the legend up close and personal, I must say that I am rather disappointed.” The Matoran wanted to move, but he couldn't. Something-or perhaps some''one''-was paralyzing him. It didn’t take a genius to figure out who was behind this. If he could, he would've sweated in fear. The world blurred, and he and his comrade found themselves under the icy-blue light again, this time in a ring of stone. Judging by the shape, it was probably an underground arena. And on the other side must’ve been their opponent. Well, if the thing before them could even count as one. It was a hulking mesh of madness, bearing a Skakdi’s skull as the head. One arm was long and slender, a “mouth” formed by a circle of fingers. The other was massive and heavily armored, ending with a cluster of tendrils. The back (if it could be called that) was split open, revealing a rib cage. A sickening thing was attached to the inside of it, a boneless limb of somekind. It had a twisted face at the end, its empty eyeholes staring at the prey. The two were surprised that the monster could walk with such deformed and mismatched legs. “Now, let’s see if you can live up to your name,” Chuckled the hooded figure as he sat atop the arena. As the words left his hidden mouth, the miniature suns turned an icy blue. Without reason or warning, they fired beams of heat and flame at the abomination. It held its many-mouthed arm into the air, reaching for the energy. The blue flames became tamed lightning, coursing through its body and the air around it. Glonor made his move, firing a shot at the behemoth. He was shocked to see it bounce off of the energy. It was forming a shield around itself! He was even more surprised when it fired a bolt of lightning at the duo. Both rolled out of the way, Kenod firing a couple of shots from his pistols. Just like his partner’s, they bounced off of the shield. The Bo-Matoran considered using the shotgun, but he wasn't’t too eager to meet the beast face-to-face. The thing had the same idea, firing energy at the duo. The Matoran dodged, flung forward by the explosion. He dropped one of pistols, the firearm being trigger by its fall. Another bounced off the shield, this time into an artificial sun. It burst into blue flames, and the shield flickered for a second. That’s it! Thought Kenod. He turned to Glonor, who also caught on to the idea. He fired his revolver at another sphere, and it too exploded. After all of them were destroyed, the shield finally faded. The duo fired more shots at the behemoth, but none of them seemed to have any effect on it. The thing charged, swinging its tendrils around like a Morning Star. The two ducked, rolled, and strafed a number of its assaults, but that brought them nowhere nearer to victory. For every step they made, they went back two more. Something flew past Glonor, nicking him at the shoulder. It was a legless, headless, amphibious entity. Attached to it were long, hook-like blades. The thing released a gurgling screech from where the head once was, leaping at the startled Av-Matoran. It pinned him to the ground, raising one of its bladed arms for the kill. As he looked at it, he noticed something off. His eyes widen, recognizing them. Those were his blades. He remembered coming into his chambers back in the main city, seeing his entire room ransacked. Among the things stolen were his journal and his weapons. When he reported the theft to the authorities, they mentioned chasing after a group of thugs earlier. One was a Ywinakim, another an aquatic entity (possibly a member of Ehlek’s species), and two Skakdi. Judging from how they were easily able to break in and escape without much trouble, they were most likely Dark Hunters. Now he knew who stole his blades in the first place. Unfortunately for them, fate had different plans. And now here he was, about to be butchered by his own tools. Irony can be so cruel sometimes. These thoughts ran through his brain in a nanosecond, his life flashing in the next. Just as the blade was about a few centimeters from his forehead, the body was suddenly thrown off of him. No, not thrown off… shot off. He turned to see Kenod, smoke slithering from shotgun. The thing was still alive, trying to recuperate. The Bo-Matoran never gave him the chance to do so. He blew off the arms, watching as the torso flinched. And when it continued to twitch, he fired a couple more shots. There was nothing left but a tar-like stain, scrap metal, and rotten flesh. Glonor ran toward the remains, tearing what was rightfully his from the dead thief. For the first time in these dark days, he felt comfort. That wasn’t enough to make him drop his guard, oh no. Rather, it gave him even more strength. Turning back to his partner, he could see him being gang-up by a group of zombies. Reinforcements, no doubt. He smiled, running toward the aggressors. In a few swings and twirls, they were dismembered, their fluids coating his armor. All that remained was the abomination. Just as he met its blank stare, though, the earth quaked. No, not quaked… screamed. The cavern was tearing itself apart, stalagmites falling to the floor. Glonor’s eyes caught the mysterious figure heading toward the mirror. The barrier between them was breaking down, fading into the nothing. The Matoran made a mad dash for the hooded one, leaping at him. The figure snapped his head towards him, holding his staff up. The Av-Matoran frozen in midair, held up by some unseen cosmic strings. And for brief moment, the robes began to shimmer in the light. In the being’s palce was… something else. Before he could inspect the new form any further, though, he was flung into the wall on the opposite side. When his vision cleared, the being and his pet vanished. And so should we. Thought Glonor. Joined with Kenod, the two made a break for it. The ground was fracturing under their feet, dust raining own on their heads. After seemed like an eternity, they saw a light at the end of their tunnel. As they jumped out, the carven collapsed. Whatever madman or beast was still inside would’ve most likely meet an untimely end. The duo dusted themselves off, coughing as the dirt clouded their vision. “Well, that was one Karzahni of an adventure,” Said Glonor. “A bit too much, if you ask me,” Replied his sidekick. “And how would you know? You’re just a merchant,” The Av-Matoran laughed back. The Bo-Matoran grumbled, spotting a road nearby. He gestured a hand towards it, drawing the eyes of his comrade. However, those same eyes soon turned the opposite direction and saw an open forest. Grinning, saw toward the edge of it. “Dude, seriously?” Groaned the Bo-Matoran. Glonor grinned. “Still have a job to do. Besides,” He turned towards the east. “The city should be that way. I won’t be needing you for this trip.” Kenod whipped his forehead in relief. “Welp, it was nice knowing you,” He said, making his way home. “The same,” The other shouted back. As the duo parted ways, both couldn’t help but think about what they saw. Who were those poor Matoran, butchered like Rahi? What was that nameless thing, that hideous sight? And above all, where had that “Necromancer” fled to? These questions maybe never be answered, at least, not to them. And little did they know that this would be their last meeting… A few minutes later, and Glonor was already lost. He forgot to reclaim the map from his ally. Ah well, more exploring for him. He heard few gurgling sounds. He crouched on his knees, crawling behind a tree. Down a bio or two below were a number of undead. One was red-and-black, bearing a noble Jutlin. Another was orange-and-red, bearing an Akaku Nuva. A blue-and-black one was present, wearing an unknown Kanohi. The last one, though… didn't seem to fit in with them. It took him a moment to recognize it as one of the hooded one’s zombies. Slowly, he reached down for his magnum and… It wasn’t in its host! Scrap, must’ve lost it in the cave-in. He thought. If he wasn’t lost in his thoughts, he would’ve seen a bird-like shape landing on a branch. Unfortunately, the soil beneath the tree was already eroding away. Combined with the bird’s weight, the tree fell off its tiny cliff and crushed the undead spy beneath it. The others jumped in shock, quickly noticing the unwelcomed guest. They charged at him, screeching in an unfamiliar tongue. The Av-Matoran made a run for it, dashing deeper into the woods. If he bothered to look, he would’ve seen that it was no bird at all. He would’ve seen its twisted form, a sickening mix of bird and insect. Its head was coated in eyes, the body alien and grotesque. The wings had blades on their ends, a stinger for a tail. It bore six insectoid legs, the front pair having tiny claws. And this creature bore would bear witness to events yet to come. Epilogue Somewhere on this island was a nameless village. It was small, almost insignificant. Well, almost. Recently, a band of the undead raided the place, slathered the villagers without a second thought or reason. Only two survived: Glonor and a female Toa of Fire. But there was one more who survived. He was a Po-Matoran, bearing a golden Akaku. And ironically, he was also a pathologist. What was even more ironic, however, was that he was slowly dying. Danza cursed his luck. He was impaled in the stomach during the raid, and had to play dead through it all. He couldn’t remove the images from his mind. The screams, the blood, the madness… Laying his back against a toppled table, he was busy writing his final words: A call for help. He would have one of their Rahi send it to the city and… Wait, the Rahi were killed too. He cursed himself again. Something shifted in the wind, sending a bit of dirt into it. Danza froze, paralyzed by fear. Had they returned? When he turned his head toward the source, though, he saw something different. There were two hooded figures, one in mucus-yellow robes, the other in gold. The golden one carried a staff, his face covered in bandages. The other wore a Kanohi Rode and had icy-blue eyes. He could see the faceless one gesturing to the Rode-bearer toward the center of the massacre, handing him a shovel. The leader than made his way toward the doctor. He played dead, slumping against the furniture. It didn't seem to help, seeing as that he was pulled up into the air. “You aren't fooling anyone, you know,” A voice bluntly commented. Danza opened his eyes to see the faceless one. His staff’s many eyeholes were glowing a disturbing pale-white. If he were to guess, that was the thing holding him up. The being took the scroll from the Po-Matoran’s hand, reading its contents. He turned his head toward the west, and tossed the letter into the air. A strange creature flew overhead, grabbing the paper in its claws. The figure turned to Danza, and his form began to shift. The man in yellow was not what he appeared to be. His true form was that of a skeletal entity, clan in a type of armor he had never seen. He was mostly organic, save for some mechanical implants that he noticed as well. His old skin was as thin as paper, his eyes glowing in a cold, harsh blue. The cloth attached to his armor was worn out, holes and tears being visible. The helmet he bore was rusted, aged beyond recognition. “Wha… what are you…” Whispered Danza. The Toa-sized warlock smiled a wicked smile. “A precursor to your world.” He ended his sentence with a sharp whip of his staff. The spike bottom impaled Danza in the eye, smashing through his brain and exiting out the back of his head. Danza tried to scream, but no voice escaped from his lips. He died in silence, face in a morbid mix of fear and pain. By that point, the servant was done digging and brought back his finding to him: A metallic canister. The former soldier peered inside, checking its contents. Though the Rode-bearer never got to look inside, he knew that he pleased his master. The warlock placed the container under his arms. “Thank you,” Said Arethidas, pausing for a moment. "Where's Iqwask?" The Rode-bearer frown. "Poor fool was crushed under the rumble. And my kinsmen...." he balled up his fists, grinding his teeth. The warlock nodded. “Yes, a tragedy indeed. But we cannot weep for the lost. Not with our enemies still amongest us. There is one last task you must complete before we can avenge the fallen.” He handed the young one a dagger. “Many have escaped, though not all were who they once were. Hjorlan has broken free from our power, and has fled to the Northern Continent. He has brought many more of our flock under his command, such as Nogad. If word of these events get out, it’ll become more difficult for us to operate. They are to be silenced.” The Necrologist nodded, and was about to leave when his lord stopped him. “Before you go, there is something else you should know. The Inn they’re hiding in a run by a male Ga-Matoran. The locals call him “''Chorrum”. If he has learned of events here, then you must kill him as well. Be warned, he is heavily armed, and could easily kill you if given the chance.” The Rode-bearer bowed. “I will not fail you, Milford.” The prophet nodded. “And I in return have a mission of my own. This may be our final meeting. May the All-Seer watch over you.” The young one nodded once more, and went to fulfill his command. As he left, Arethidas covered up the hole with his power. The wound in the ground quickly faded, sealing itself. He was fortunate that zombies lacked the brainpower to dig. He turned his gaze toward the hill where Glonor and that Toa were dumped, then to the corpses of her fel- The Toa of Water and Ice were gone! Spinning around madly, he cursed himself silently for forgetting about them. Either they were infected, or they survived the raid. At first, he was in distress, wondering if they left the island. Then an idea crept into his mind. A sinister grin slithered into existence. If they survived, chances are that they couldn't be far from the sight either. All he had to do was pick up their Elemental Energies. The ancient one laughed to himself as he faded away, disappearing to parts unknown. 'This is the end of one tale, and unlikely to be the last one to be told.' Characters A number of Matoran *Glonor *Kenod *Lothorna (vision only, deceased) *Aliki (vision only, infected) *Icax (vision only, infected) *Chorrum (mentioned only) *Danza (deceased) A group of Dark Hunters *Wythilv, infected and fused with two other Forgotten Warriors. *"Tide", infected. *Noxit (mentioned only), deceased. *Hjorlan A number of Forgotten Warriors *An unseen entity with tentacles. *A massive fusion of three FWs, Wythilv among the ones used to create it. Members of a cult *Arethidas, leader of the cult. *Iqwask, the unnamed "''Necrologist's" assistant *An unknown "Necrologist", a Rode bearer. *Nagod, a male Ga-Matoran. *Unknown Po-Matoran, bearing a Kaukau. *An unknown Su-Matoran. Promotional Images: Black Plague Banner 1 L.jpg|First version, mirrored background Black Plague Banner 1 R.jpg|Mirrored version of image to the left. Black Plague Trio 3.JPG|From left to right. Unnamed Onu-Matoran (Might mot even appear in BP), Glonor, Kenod. Trivia *The name of the story is a refference to the PC horror videogame Penumbra: Black Plauge, as well as the real world event. *This story was inspired by a couple of other horror games as well: Call of Cthulhu: Dark Courners of The Earth and Eternal Darkness: Sanity's Requiem. ''The writer also thought about adding elements from the ''Amnesia series, an indie-horror PC game series developed by Frictional Games. *A small number of guest characters appear here as well. Lothorna by BobTheDoctor27, and Icax and Aliki by IDS. *Arethidas based his disguise off of a character off of a Matoran play called The Yellow Reaper. The play in turn is a refference to The King In Yellow, a collection of short stories by Robert W. Chambers. Category:Stories Category:User:Ahpolki Inika